Mine's Better
by Starved Crazed Weasel
Summary: Inspired off of World Table. France, in a visit to bother England finds him asleep on his couch with a box of World Table Treats. France decides to show England REAL french food.


SCW: Happy valentines day lovelies! I hope you all got something nice. No don't whine to me if you didn't…

Ariana: you do realize that, that will make them do just that.

SCW: Not unless they want a gigantor chocolate or vanilla or strawberry or whatever heart thrown at them! Whatever just read!

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**Mine's Better**

A young bright blonde boy made his way through the field of lush grass. He made sure to keep his robes hem from catching on any fauna his land had. His blue outfit accented his light pale blue eyes. The yellow trim made his chin length hair seem brighter. A basket in his hand swayed with his every step. The hidden items inside were for someone he knew. A very cute child that was as tall as his mid thigh. Quite short really, but he didn't dare tell the child to his face, lest he obtain a nasty bruise. He had unruly yet soft darker blonde hair, darker than his own but silkier. He had very pale skin due to where he had been living for the first centuries of his life. His eyes were the elder's favorite though. A beautiful brilliant shade of green that nothing else could compare to. All the green gems in the world envied his eyes. The eyebrows were a bit of a turn away though, but they weren't as thick as they seemed. Just darker.

The young boy found the child where he normally did. Under the shade of a large tree near the river. He claimed it was because he thought the brighter blondes land was hotter than his own. The blonde figured it was because the child missed his lands rainy tendency. The child was, after all, an island. Surrounded by waters for years just to have that suddenly taken away by a foreign invader. (Rome)

"Arthur!" He greeted the tiny child with a wave. Arthur, the green eyed child scowled at him. Though his ever expressive eyes held curiosity.

"What Frog?" he even had a light voice. Though Francis (his real name) knew it would deepen into a nice tenor. He sat down beside the wary land. Arthur had learned from experience that trying to run from someone with longer legs and a better understanding of the surroundings; was stupid. Francis set the cloth covered basket down and patted his lap. Signaling to Arthur he wanted him to sit on it. The island personification frowned. Even though he was stubborn as a mule, Francis was as cunning as a fox. He'd find some way to get Arthur on his lap. The lighter blonde smiled and patted his lap once more. Arthur sighed and stood.

"You better not do anything perverted frog." He grumbled as he let the elder boy place him on his lap. Francis laughed and shook his head.

"Non, I just wanted to give you something." He held Arthur in place with one hand wrapped around his tiny abdomen. Arthur's body felt cooler than his even through the white robe and green cloak.

With his free hand he reached into the small basket and took one of the sweet rolls he had made just for Arthur and him. He gave it to the child and waited.

Arthur eyed it as if it was poisoned, he looked back up into Francis' expectant blue eyes, then looked back at the treat. He took a dainty bite, green eyes widened. Since when could the frog cook so well! He took a larger bite and munched happily. Not realizing his once rigid body was slumping into Francis' warm one. The elder blonde smiled brightly. The whole reason behind his sweet gift was to put him in a better position in Arthur's mind. From untrustworthy perverted foreigner to trustworthy older brother. Or at least nice person he knew. It was his job to protect Arthur from outside invaders and if he had a better position in the child's mind his life would be much easier. Arthur was almost finished with his treat, he had popped the last bit into his mouth and smiled.

"Would you like another mon petite lapin?" a light blush dusted the green eyed child's cheeks.

"I'm not a rabbit." He mumbled, getting more comfortable in his lap. Francis laughed. Arthur turned around so he could rest his head on Francis' chest. He stayed like that for a moment, listening to the elder's rhythmic heartbeat. A mental battle going on in his head.

"Yes, please." He said not looking up. Francis laughed and nodded, giving him another one. Arthur leaned up and, for a moment, paused, with his face inches from a curious Francis'. Then he moved, pressing his lips to Francis' nose. His way of saying thank you.

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France snickered to himself quietly. So far his infiltration of the rosbif's house had gone nicely. That meant England was either asleep or had his nose buried in a book. France snickered at the thought of scaring or surprising his little rabbit. Well, England wasn't his, he wasn't anybody's really but hey. The Frenchman liked the prospect of calling England his without getting an evil glare from America. (he still couldn't understand why the American didn't just ask England out.) if that brainless boy didn't ask France more than likely would.

He carefully shut the door behind him and took off his shoes. They'd make unnecessary noise, he didn't want that. He passed the kitchen and dining room. Padded past the downstairs bathroom and was about to pass the living room when something caught his eye. He did an A class double take at the scene. Petite lapin, laid curled up on his side on the couch. Asleep by the looks of it. France squeed silently, a brief memory of finding a chibi England in the same position flashing past him. He silently made his way to the sleeping Brit. He was so focused on that peaceful face he nearly stepped on a box. The innocent box that rested beside England's couch. Right next to it, as if he had dropped it. France picked up the innocent red box and frowned. It was one of world tables. The company that gave people a taste of other countries cuisine. This one was a taste of France surprisingly. The hazel nut chocolate sticks.

This was very odd considering England repeatedly stated that he hated the frogs cooking. Sweet or otherwise. So having a box of French based sweets was very surprising. Also quite insulting to the nation. So England would eat his food, only if other people…no other machines made it. Oh… this meant war. How dare these machines feed his little rabbit false food. This was hardly true French cuisine. A determined glint appeared in his eyes. He'd prove to England that _real_ French food was better than processed junk! With that he darted off to the kitchen. He wasn't afraid of making any noise. Sugar had a kind of way of knocking England out for a while. It was his version of a sugar rush. Instead of bouncing around he grew docile and sleepy. Sometimes he'd lose that sharp edge and talk to people without getting in any sort of argument. The last time France had snuck sugar in England's tea, it had scared even Russia! He had practically shrugged off every insult America could think to throw at him. That any nation threw at him.

Though afterwards the nations that had tried to provoke him lost their cell phones…well, the little devices spontaneously exploded. And they had a lot of problems with any mechanical or electronic devices. (think of a mythical creature that messes with electronics and stuff) they never found out what had caused it. France wasn't talking. For the rest of the hour France worked on a variety of sweet treats, so when England woke up he'd have a choice.

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England groaned, blinking open his eyes. He couldn't believe he had fallen asleep on his couch. Maybe he was getting old…nah, couldn't be. The Englishman stretched out his arms to pull himself up. That's when a heavy sweet smell hit him like an American to a new hamburger place. He was also aware of something, or someone, near him. Dragging blurry and sleep fogged eyes to the once empty couch he froze. One second later, England was halfway across the room after letting out a 'manly' shriek. Maybe a few cuss word to accent that shriek. France raised his eyebrow and smiled. The sugar had run its course that was for sure.

"Screaming already mon petite lapin? I haven't even touched you yet. Though some say my looks alone could make anyone-" pillow meet France's face. France's face, meet pillow.

"What the hell are you doing here frog!" England briefly glanced down at his body to make sure he still had on all of his clothes. Then he surveyed the room for the sweet smell. He found about four plates full of sweets. In a brief flash of fear he ran out of the room to his kitchen. An aggravated groan later France grinned.

"There's a pile of dishes that could over shadow St. Stephens tower! (Big Ben) the stove has more stains than I can count! Do I even want to-AH!" a loud thud.

"Oil! There's oil on the floor! You're cleaning this!" England stormed back into the living room his socks missing and his pants stained a bit. Before he could yell anymore France patted his lap. England arched his eyebrow.

"I'm not sitting on your lap. I'm too old and big for that." England crossed his arms over his chest and took a bit of a girly pose. France smiled and patted his lap once more.

"Angleterre, I'm sure you remember this. So you should know what I will do to you if you don't come." England glared and eyed him. As soon as France stood up England sighed and walked over. France grinned triumphantly and sat down. As soon as England got within range he tugged the smaller body down to his. France liked how England's back fit so nicely with his chest.

" If you try anything perverted I swear I'll rearrange your face." England glared.

"Non, I merely wanted to prove something. My cooking is much better than that boxes." England shifted a bit so he could face him more comfortably.

"Are you jealous of World Table? Is that why you've destroyed my kitchen and baked so many sweets?" England sounded surprised. Instead of answering the Frenchman leaned to the left to grab a treat that looked suspiciously like the one from the secretly mangled box. He placed it to England's lower lip and waited for him to take it. England's smaller hand grabbed it from him and his lips parted to let it in.

**!~!Intermission!~!**

**Please note that not even dear little England knows about his sugar problem. This bodes funny.**

**!~!End intermission!~!**

After having a few sweets shoved at him (not really) the Brit was starting to relax into France's hold. His back curled into France's torso and his hips were much closer to the Frenchman's. This was why France was always trying to give his petite, sugar. Besides, watching his bunny slide food into his mouth was starting to stir little France. All he had to do was wait for the sugar to put England to sleep and he'd be set.

Yet the younger child in France pleaded with him not to_. Just savor the moment, this may be the only time England would relax around France so much_. However the older France was pleading, _take it, this is the one country in Europe you haven't been able to go all the way with (stupid over protective family and American.)_France was torn between molesting the heck out of the tame Englishman in his lap. Or taking him to the bed so he could have a more comfortable place to sleep. So, when England started dozing on his shoulder he mentally weighed his options. Then snapped, decision made!

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Bleary green eyes opened slowly. As if not wanting to leave the confines of the thick lashes. When England tried to stretch he found he couldn't. His wrists were bound above his head to the bars in the head board. His legs were bound to the carefully tied up sheets. And the only thing covering his body was the thick blanket on his bed. Now this wouldn't have been so bad, had it not been for the hand drawing circles on his chest. On a very intimate area too. Even worse, it was France that his more alert eyes had locked onto.

"Ah, the petite lapin awakes!" France smiled. England tried to maim him with his eyes and body. Good thing for France that the binds held.

"You *insert curse words in a variety of different languages…around three…though be assured that they are quite insulting!*" France just smiled, he couldn't understand most of what the adorably flushed island nation was saying anyway. So he pinched the pink flesh on England's chest. The words were immediately replaced with a surprised moan.

" I can explain. You see you don't normally get so relaxed around me. So a bit of me wanted to bask in that. However another part of me wanted this." He paused to roll on top of the struggling man.

"So instead of sacrificing one option for the other… I did both! I let you sleep and I'm about to appease the other one." France applauded himself mentally.

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Appease he did! For the rest of the night and even into the next day. He was glad England had the amount of stamina he did. What he, the Frenchman, didn't know, was that the Englishman had always loved his cooking…the box of sweets was a mere substitute. And he hadn't even needed to tie England down as much as he had. With the way things were going…Dear gosh that is one hell of a flexible country… OH! He'd never be able to tell him. Can backs bend like that?

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SCW: I wrote this listening to Coldplay and Plain white T's so this was quite fun. The whole idea behind this little oneshot was when I was munching on World Table a taste of France. If you've ever seen them you'd know what I was talking about. Those things are amazing!

Ariana: But seriously, no whining about lack of gifts…this is a holiday celebrating some dude who got his head lopped off because he went against orders. So yeah… until next time.

Everyone: Happy Dead Saint Guy Day!


End file.
